Page 107 of The Wrong Heart

This was supposed to be a sexy hook-up, and I’m ruining it with feelings and a desperate need for intimacy.

Parker’s eyes narrow, like he’s trying to figure me out. Read between the lines. “You want more than sex? A relationship?”

“No, I just…” Collapsing into a sitting position, Parker does the same, inching down slowly and yanking his zipper back up. Our eyes meet, and I continue. “You don’t want to look at me, or kiss me, or maintain any genuine connection. It just makes me feel… cheap. In a way.”

He shakes his head through a frown. “That’s not… fuck, I’m not trying to. I don’t fucking know how to do any of this.”

“Don’t overthink it, Parker,” I urge, scooting closer to him and clasping his hand between my two palms. “Just feel. Follow your instincts.”

“My instincts? My instincts are telling me to bend you over and fuck the shit out of you right here on the couch. That didn’t work out so well.”

I can’t help the amusement from seeping in, and I slip him a smile, placing one of my hands to his heart. “These instincts.”

Parker flinches when I make contact with his chest, instinctually moving back.

“I know you want more, too,” I tell him. “I see your struggle. Ifeelit. I hear it in your voice, and I want you to know that I’m listening. When you’re ready.”

He ducks his chin to his chest, his eyes floating away from me. His heart thumps against the pads of my fingertips, hurried and turbulent, trying to tell me all the things he can’t seem to say.

And then an idea comes to mind. I pull my hand from his chest and rise from the couch, my eyes inspecting the walls.

“Where are you going?” Parker wonders, watching me with stoic curiosity.

I find what I’m looking for and move to the far wall.

Then, I flip off the light switch.

“Melody?”

The room darkens to nearly pitch-black, the only light source being the moon radiating in through the front window. Parker doesn’t have much furniture, so my trek back to the couch is fairly graceful, and his shadowy outline comes into view as I near him.

Instead of taking a seat beside him, I’m feeling bold, so I move into the same position I was in earlier. The same position I was in when the tornado hit—when the lights went out and all we had was each other to cling to.

I climb into his lap.

Parker stiffens below me, his breath shuddering as his hands reach out to gently grip my waist. “What are you doing?”

Leaning forward, I press a light kiss to his forehead, my hands lifting to cup his jaw. I whisper back, “The dark is the very best secret-keeper. The things we say in the dark never have to leave it.”

—TWENTY-FIVE—

The lights flicker off,and my blood runs cold.

“Melody?” I can just make out her shadowy silhouette as she finds her way back to the couch, slinking through the cloak of darkness that has filled the space. The moon from the open window behind her provides a sheer backlight while she inches her way closer. Melody hesitates for a moment when she reaches my parted legs, my belt still loose around my waist, button unfastened. For a moment I think she’s going to settle in beside me, but she straddles me instead. Her knees climb up on either side of me, caging in my thighs, her dress riding up her hips and inviting my hands to grip her waist, pulling her further into my lap. “What are you doing?”

Melody leans in, brushing a delicate kiss to my forehead. Her fingers graze up along my jawline until she’s cradling my face in her palms like I fucking mean something to her. “The dark is the very best secret-keeper. The things we say in the dark never have to leave it.”

I feel myself melting, liquefying in her hands, my brittle outer layers flaking and splintering. Her touch is calming, and the feel of her pressed into me, her breath coasting along my upper lip, causes me to wrap my arms around her middle and release an expulsive sigh.

She told me to follow my instincts, but my instincts have always urged me to lurk in the shadows and build shatterproof walls. Vulnerability is poison. Emotions are toxic. Becoming soft is a solicitation for pain and disappointment.

My instincts have never once demanded reckoning for the demons I’ve kept buried for so long. They’ve never encouraged me to exorcize them, to find solace and healing in another human being.

But Melody found a way in. She’s breached me somehow, and all I want to do is eradicate every little thing that has soiled my veins for nearly three decades. Every cruel word and beating. Every cigarette burn. Every insult, every slap, every bee sting and papercut.

Every second spent in that fucking closet wishing for death.

Melody dusts both thumbs over my cheekbones, her face only inches from mine. Her thighs grip me, her hair splaying over both shoulders like an added curtain. “I won’t force you, Parker… it’s okay if you’re not ready,” she breathes out gently, her words only adding to my desire to spill my guts. “But if you are, I’m listening.”

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